Hot!
by delightful-fear
Summary: Heat Wave! London! How will the boys cope? (AU. Johnlock.)


John loosened his tie, undid a couple buttons on his dress shirt, and slipped off his blazer. It didn't help much. After a couple more minutes, he rolled up his sleeves, folding the material up to his elbows.

He could feel the sweat beading on his skin, but it was so humid that it didn't evaporate. There wasn't any air circulation down here at all. He pulled out his handkerchief, mopping up his forehead and the back of his neck.

By the time the train finally arrived, he was wilting. There was a damp patch of sweat on the back of his shirt and he knew his clothes were sticking to him a little. He hated the feeling.

The automatic doors of the carriage opened like the Gates of Hell, with even hotter air blasting over John. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed through the crowd and tried to find a decent amount of space to stand. The thought of being pressed up against an equally sweaty stranger made a shudder run through him.

It couldn't be helped though. This was what riding the tube was like when there was a hot spell in London. It rained fairly often, making the temperature feel higher with the humidity. Very few lines had air-conditioned cars. The Bakerloo line was definitely the worst.

He had about ten stops to go, and he could only hold on to the overhead strap, swaying with the motions of the train, trying to not brush against the other overheated passengers. Sweat was soaking through his clothes now, too much to fight with his small handkerchief.

 _A cold shower. The biggest, iciest glass of water, condensation beading on the side._ Pressing the glass against his face, his neck, as he swallowed a huge mouthful, the icy liquid slipping down his throat, a cool trail in its wake. Images looped again and again through his mind, more vivid than sexual fantasies he'd had lately.

Finally, he got off at his station, emerging from that kiln, and listlessly rode the escalators to the surface, sighing in relief as the temperature became slightly more bearable. He trudged last the few blocks, and up the steps to the flat. Soon, soon...he would be able to cool off...

The door swung open, the late afternoon sunlight giving the room a golden glow. John froze in the doorway, eyes wide.

Sherlock was sitting on the edge of a dining chair, his arms dangling limply at his sides. His long legs were splayed out straight from his body, spread wide. An oscillating fan whirling at full blast from the floor before him. His eyes were closed, his shoulders against the chair back.

Seeing his new roommate in such a position was surprising enough, but what held John silent and immobile was that Sherlock was almost naked, only wearing deep red boxer briefs with a black waistband. Almost every inch of his pale skin was completely on display.

It took a little too long before John shook himself out of his trance, and closed the door behind him. It made a louder click than John expected, making him cringe as Sherlock lazily opened his eyes, looking at John under heavy eyelids.

"Um...what are you doing?" John finally asked, just to say something.

Sherlock scoffed, looking up at the ceiling. "Hot! I'm far too hot!"

 _Well, yes you are, but it's a bit narcissistic to shout about it like a fishmonger._ John grinned to himself, having to turn away in case his thoughts would show too much on his face.

He had moved in last fall, and grown to like his mercurial flat mate over all these months. They had been all over London together, bundled up with jumpers, scarves and long, thick coats. He had come to accept that his flat mate was attractive, his green eyes flashing with the excitement at an idea, or a sharp joke. But from that first meal at Angelo's, Sherlock had shut down any possibility of being more than friends. John accepted it, and had enjoyed their relationship as it grew deeper in platonic ways. He dated other people to satisfy his need for sex and romance. For a more intimate connection.

A long, cold rainy winter had finally lifted in the last couple weeks, followed by this early heat wave. London had rain often enough that temperatures in the mid-twenties felt much higher. A sweltering spell in Spain soon had hot winds blowing across France and England. A Spanish Plume.

"I'm going to take a cold shower." John said, mostly to himself, thinking again of his plans from the tube. Getting his mind off his mostly naked flat mate.

Sherlock didn't respond, but he rarely did when it didn't directly involve him. Sometimes John was tempted to draw a face on a helium balloon and tie it to his chair, and see if Sherlock even noticed the difference.

In his bedroom, John stripped, dropping his sodden clothing into his laundry basket. Grabbing some underwear, he slipped on his lightest cotton robe, and headed back downstairs.

The shower was heaven. Cold water poured over his hair, his skin, rinsing away his sweat and cooling him down. He didn't even wash at first, just turning slowly under the spray, letting it cool him off thoroughly until he felt human again. He took his time shampooing and soaping up.

Drying off, he slipped on loose boxers and the robe. He put a bit of product in his hair, finger combing it, and leaving it to dry on its own.

Sherlock didn't seem to notice when John walked into the kitchen, still in the same position. Filling a big glass with ice cubes, John made the tap water as cold as possible. He gulped down a full glass and filled it again, walking back to the living room.

Following Sherlock's example, he sat at the dining room table, not wanting his body in much contact with the furniture, trying to have the air circulating around him as much as possible. He opened his laptop, sipping his drink as he read emails and surfed the web lazily. It was still too hot to do anything that required much movement or deep thought.

Even sipping the ice water, he gradually was heating up, the effects of the cold shower wearing off. He started to feel sticky, getting sweaty again. Looking up, he glared at his flat mate. "Sherlock, would you please move the fan so it blows on both of us?"

Opening one eye, Sherlock glanced over him dismissively. He scoffed, closing his eye again. "You can hardly need it as much as I do. You are still wearing that robe."

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, John yanked the belt of the robe undone, and shrugged it off to drape over the back of his chair. Normally, he would feel self-conscious wearing so little in front of someone who wasn't a lover, but Sherlock was basically asexual. He wouldn't read more into it.

It did feel better without the robe, and gradually, John stretched out like Sherlock, extending his legs straight under the table, holding his arms away from his sides. But after ten minutes, he felt hot again. The flat was so stuffy, even with all the windows open.

Instead of asking the berk again, John simply moved his chair beside Sherlock's, and moved the fan to be right between them, it's airflow running over both of them. Sherlock glared at him, but John just met his stare, daring him to complain. After a couple moments, Sherlock closed his eyes and turned his head away. Irked at having to share.

John grinned to himself in quiet victory. His elation was short lived, as the position had him spread out away from the table. It would be awkward to try balancing his computer on his lap, and likely be too warm. He wasn't in the mood to read a book or watch TV. It was too early to go to bed and he wasn't hungry.

"Bored." Sherlock groaned, echoing John's thoughts. Often, he found these outbursts a sign of Sherlock's emotional immaturity, acting like an emo teenager. Today, he completely related. Being so uncomfortable had evaporated his normal patience away. Taken away his concentration. Was this how Sherlock felt most of the time? No wonder he often gave such sharp comments.

Sighing, John searched his mind for something to do. Something interesting that didn't take much effort. He considered listening to music, normally something he greatly enjoyed, but he wasn't in the right mood today. But in thinking of the music he had on his laptop, he remembered something else he had on there.

Podcasts. He had gotten into them a few years before, when the podcast 'Serial' had become a phenomenon. The fascinating storytelling of a small cold case had captured his imagination and he had sampled dozens podcasts since then. He downloaded often, listening to them with headphones during his commute or when doing mundane tasks.

Standing up, he scrolled through his list of podcasts on his computer, trying to find one that Sherlock wouldn't scoff at too much. Lately, he had been listening to a podcast compiled from TED talks, and selected an episode with scientists talking for an hour about new research on the five senses.

Again, he didn't bother to ask Sherlock's permission, just starting the audio, preemptively avoiding his usual knee-jerk rejection to most of John's suggestions. He settled back in his chair, listening as a blind scientist discussed sonification of data so she could analyze it as others analyzed visual data. The fact that Sherlock didn't complain showed that his interest was captured as well. At least enough to keep him quiet.

He gradually relaxed, his eyes closed, lulled by the movement of the air current over his body, the voices in the podcast. Hearing Sherlock's soft breathing, or when he shifted slightly in his chair. Lethargic from the heat, but not tired enough to fall asleep.

 _"...we like sweet because it is the taste of pure energy, via simple carbohydrates like sugar...,"_ the voice of a female geneticist studying the sense of taste explained. _"...The final one is salt. When your body needs salt to maintain fluid levels, we crave it..."_

He had noticed Sherlock using his senses more than most people did, all part of his amazing deductions. He saw more in one minute scan than most did in an hour of careful study. He had no hesitation to take a deep breath around a crime scene, using some faint scent to lead him to clues most wouldn't notice.

The talk moved on to the sense of smell, with a male zoologist from Oxford. _"...Pheromones. It conjures up sex, abandon, loss of control... basically it's transferred excitement, transferred between individuals..."_

The last sense discussed was touch. A male neuroscientist mentioned studies done fifty years ago where a psychologist studied regular people in cafes all over the world, measuring how often people touched others casually. _"...in Puerto Rico, people would touch each other 200 times an hour, these weren't as lovers, these were friends or colleagues from work...in Paris, 40 times an hour, and in New York City 2 times an hour..."._

When the podcast ended and another randomly began, John found the ideas of the last one were swirling around in his mind. Lingering.

What was it like to be Sherlock, so in tune with some of his senses, and so closed off in other ways? The scientist discussing touch had mentioned that Londoners rarely touched each other at all casually, compared to Parisians touching 40 times an hour, and it wasn't hard to believe. Outside of lovers, John might shake hands with people in greeting, or give an occasional hug. Sherlock likely rarely even had those types of touches, and didn't have lovers. John had met Mycroft, and doubted the rest of Sherlock's family were any warmer. How did he live that way, so closed off from others?

How did he live without touch? The discussion about pheromones brought up sex, abandon, loss of control... Had Sherlock ever experienced that? Losing himself in pure sexual desire, lust? The pleasure of being fully with a partner, open and vulnerable? Did he even masturbate? It was hard to imagine either scenario.

John subtly looked sideways without turning his head. Sherlock's eyes were closed, so he felt more comfortable looking him over. His body was slim, but lightly muscled. John had seen him move quickly, hold his own in a fight, run easily for blocks. He was a very fit man without seeming to work at it, just being very physical in his investigative work.

Although he claimed to not care about his 'transport', he took good care of himself. His hair was always well cut and styled. His clothes were tailored perfectly. His toiletries were pricey. Why did he bother, if not to be attractive to others?

As John looked his fill of his almost naked flat mate, he couldn't help appreciating his beauty. Despite the fan, sweat gave his skin a bit of a sheen, and his hair was damp along his hairline, just like John's. Was he emitting pheromones right now? Was John? Was that why he was finding it hard to look away?

Sherlock huffed. "Hot! Still so hot!" He opened his eyes, glancing John's way, seeming to be looking for sympathy.

Quickly schooling his expression, John held up his glass. "Want some ice water? It helps."

Giving an unimpressed look in response, Sherlock shook his head and closed his eyes again.

John sipped his drink, until the water was gone and just ice cubes remained. Tilting it to the side, he let a couple fall into his hand before putting the glass to the side. Without thinking about it too much, he grabbed Sherlock's left hand and set it on his thigh, palm upwards. Before Sherlock could pull it back, John cupped the ice against his wrist.

"Give it a few minutes. It's a pulse point. Cool your blood here and your overall temperature will come down." John said with his best calming tone, moving the ice in small circles to avoid any spot getting too cold.

Sherlock had stiffened up at the unexpected contact, but slowly relaxed, letting his hand rest against John. He gave a small moan that almost seemed carnal. "Mmmm...that is actually helping."

John was glad, happy to get something from the man besides complaints. The ice was melting slowly, flowing from Sherlock's wrist on to John's thigh, and dripping on to the floor. The icy water was sensitizing his heated skin.

When the ice was gone, John moved Sherlock's hand back to his own thigh, feeling a bit relieved. It felt a little odd to be touching him.

Sherlock made a little whining noise. "Do my other wrist." He draped his other arm across his torso, palm up.

They were both too lazy to bother moving into a better position, so John got some more ice and shifted slightly closer. He rubbed it against Sherlock's wrist, feeling good when the man gave him a pleased hum.

In this position, the melted ice water was trickling down Sherlock's firm stomach and soaking into the side of his boxer briefs. John couldn't help but trace over it with his eyes, noticing the fabric darkening and clinging to him. His gaze was drawn lower, tracing over the bulge in his snug briefs. Never before had he seen Sherlock wearing something so revealing, and it made him curious to see more.

He happened to look up then, and Sherlock's eyes were half open. John flushed slightly, his gaze skittering away guiltily. Had Sherlock noticed him checking him out?

A quick glance to his face showed Sherlock's attention was now on John's shoulder. He was used to the injury now, but always felt a bit tense when he took his shirt off in front of a new lover, fearing their reaction. Sherlock only seemed intrigued, and John was able to relax again.

Their position was fairly close, and it was making John aware of the man in a way he usually wasn't. He felt the urge to take an ice cube and trace it over his hot, sweaty skin, leaving a trail of cool water behind, seeing him shiver in reaction to the temperature contrast.

A slight chuckle made John glance up, pulling away the small piece of ice left in his hand from Sherlock's wrist.

"You are thinking very loudly..." Sherlock said softly, his eyes half-hooded. "Do it. Let me feel the ice other places."

That whisper, with that sexy voice, overrode John's normal reservations, and he touched the ice back to Sherlock's wrist. But he moved it upwards, tracing along his inner arm, over his bicep, his shoulder. When he traced it over his collarbone, Sherlock tilted his head back with a sigh, baring his neck, inviting more touch. _Beautiful._

John fished another ice cube from his glass, and dragged it over Sherlock's neck, watching as the cool melted water ran over his hot skin, mixing with his sweat. He found himself licking his lips, suddenly craving a taste...

Things were already so far past normal, John followed his urges, leaning in and daringly licking up a trail of melted ice, following it to where it pooled at the base of his neck. Cool water, mixed with the slight salty taste of his sweat, the smell of the man, perhaps some pheromones... he couldn't get enough, just wanting more.

Sherlock was breathing faster, reacting to the ice with a slight shiver from the sensation, arching up towards John's mouth. It made him bolder, tracing the ice down his chest and following with his mouth, kissing and licking the water from his skin. He rotated the ice over one pale nipple, watching, fascinated, as it hardened. He latched over it, sucking and teasing his tongue around that nub until it was warmed up again.

Sherlock moaned, his hands going into John's hair, dragging him away. For a couple heartbeats, they just stared at each other, John amazed at the heat in Sherlock's, before they both swayed closer. Their mouths crashed together, hungry and demanding, John's hand sliding into the hair at the back of Sherlock's head to hold him in place.

John was shocked, but he couldn't do anything but give into the burning need for more. More kisses, more touching, more Sherlock. When he eventually caught his breath, panting like he had run a mile, Sherlock kissed down his neck, just as greedy to taste him, nip at his skin. If this was just a fever dream, John never wanted to wake up.

"Fuck..." John groaned, and he climbed over the man, straddling his lap, their sweat-slick chests rubbing over each other as he kissed Sherlock deeply again. This position was much better, Sherlock's hands running down his slick back, urging him closer, digging into his hips as he arched off the chair.

John was rock hard, and his erection nudged against Sherlock's, making them both gasp. Sherlock's hands went to his ass, pulling him closer to repeat that, needing it. John shifted, incredibly turned on at the proof of Sherlock's arousal, closing his eyes to savor the sensation.

The motion had them both groaning, but unbalanced them from their precarious perch on Sherlock's chair. They ended up on the floor, shocked for a second. John looked at Sherlock, swallowing hard at the pure need he saw reflected back in his eyes. Sherlock crawled over him, and John eagerly shifted his legs far apart, wanting more.

It was out of control then, mouths and hands everywhere, moaning, groaning, kissing. The chaotic storm of pure sensation. John just wanted it all, greedy and frantic. Sherlock was just as bad, grinding down on John as his tongue licked along his ear. It was even hotter, sweatier, pressed against each other, but they didn't care. Their slick chests slid against each other as John's hands went to the waistband of Sherlock's briefs.

Sherlock paused to help, moving the sweat-dampened fabric down impatiently, and then helping John get his off, sharing a laughing glance when the fabric seemed to be clinging on his damp skin, like trying to remove a wet bathing suit. John kicked the fabric away, and dived into Sherlock's arms, straddling his hips.

All restraints were off now, simply moving together, almost too hot, but too aroused to stop grinding, kissing. John moved into a steady rhythm, knowing he was getting close to the edge, and Sherlock arched into it, giving a needy moan. Sherlock came first, stilling against John, tense, and then groaning. John felt the first shot of his cum against his stomach, and reached down with a groan, stroking Sherlock, feeling as he pulsed a few more times. Overwhelmed, John moved his wet hand to himself, stroking for barely a minute before he was adding to the mess on Sherlock's chest, collapsing along his side to catch his breath.

Sherlock gave a weak chuckle, running his fingertips down John's sweaty back. "Well, that certainly didn't help cool us down."

Lifting his head from Sherlock's shoulder, John shared a laughing glance with him, glad that Sherlock seemed to be taking this in stride. Not freaking out and running away. "I think another cold shower is needed for that." He slowly peeled himself off Sherlock and the floor with a chuckle, feeling like a hot, sticky mess. Standing up, he extended a hand down to Sherlock. "Want to join me this time?"

Despite what had just happened, John held his breath as he waited for Sherlock's reaction. Now that the heat of the moment was over, would Sherlock want to continue this? This, this...this whatever it was? This indefinable beginning? His heart thumped in his chest, time seeming to slow, doubts starting to trickle in.

Sherlock had been sitting up, but stilled with the invitation, looking from the outstretched hand up to his face, his sharp gaze probably seeing more than John wanted him to. It took a few heartbeats, a breathless pause, before he lifted his hand to grasp John's. "Yes, I want that."

With a hard yank, John had him on his feet, almost running with him to the shower. Moving fast before Sherlock could change his mind.

It wasn't until they were under the spray, sighing as the cool water was washing over them, that John dared to meet Sherlock's eyes again. The heat was gone now, the passion faded for the moment. It was just them now. Sherlock and John. Naked together, hiding nothing.

Hand trembling slightly, John dug into Sherlock's wet hair, pulling him closer. This kiss was slow and deliberate, looking at each other as their faces got nearer, closing their eyes at the last minute. Lips touching firmly, but not the hard, hungry press against each other like only moments before. Soft, exploring, real. Questions silently being asked, silently being answered. Being reinforced as they began to touch each other, wet hands exploring, just wanting to know every part of each other.

...

The heat wave lasted a few more days. They had survived it, moving the fan to Sherlock's bedroom, the air blowing over their naked skin as they lay on the bed without even a sheet over them. Too often, they nullified the cooling effects with small touches that grew into more, unable to resist each other, despite the heat. More cold showers and playing with ice were needed to cool off again.

It was a relief when it returned to more typical temperatures. John pulled the covers over them, snuggled against Sherlock. "Mmmmm...this feels good."

Hugging John tight, Sherlock nodded in agreement. He planted a soft kiss to his temple. "It feels just right."'

...

-A/N: Just a drabble for fun, inspired by a long winter seeming to click over to summer almost overnight where I live. I've rarely had to use fans in my house in May, usually saving them for the hottest days in July or August. Not many people have air conditioning in their houses here, and I don't think it's that common in the UK either.

-London Tube in Summer: "The baking Bakerloo line, hits an average temperature of 27C in 2016, peaking at a sweltering 31C in August. Closely following is the Central line, which can hit temperatures of 26.1C at the height of rush hour - when you're most likely to be wedged under several other people's armpits." (from an Evening Standard article). Add in humidity levels, and it can feel like 44C.

-Podcasts are recorded programs that listeners can stream or download. Loyal listeners can also subscribe to podcasts, automatically downloading each new episode to their phone or computer. There are over 200,000 podcasts out there, on practically every topic imaginable, and 95% of them are free. I subscribe to around a dozen, and listen to them when commuting, working out or doing housework.

-Serial: "Serial is a podcast from the creators of 'This American Life', hosted by Sarah Koenig. Serial tells one story—a true story—over the course of a season. Each season, we follow a plot and characters wherever they take us." The first season was a dozen episodes released in the fall of 2014, and has over 40 million downloads now.

-TED Talks: It started in 1984 as a one-off conference about Technology, Entertainment and Design, becoming an annual event in 1990 and grew from there. From their website: "It aims to provide a platform for thinkers, visionaries and teachers, so that people around the globe can gain a better understanding of the biggest issues faced by the world, and feed a desire to help create a better future. Core to this goal is a belief that there is no greater force for changing the world than a powerful idea." It is a nonpartisan, non-profit organization trying to make great ideas accessible and spark conversation. There are almost 3000 videos online for free, all around 15 min long.

-TED Radio Hour: NPR (National Public Radio in the US) edits topgether excerpts from various TED talks around a topic into an hour-long weekly podcast. John and Sherlock listen to 'The Five Senses' posted Jan 19/17 and you can download to listen to if interested. Perhaps you can seduce someone with it as well. ;P

-Touch Study: I quoted part of the discussion about touch from the podcast. It referenced a study from Sidney Jourard, a psychologist who published in the 1960s. This classic study is often mentioned in psyc textbooks and articles. ""Illustration of such differences is provided by some observations I made during pilot stages of the present investigation. I watched pairs of people engaged in conversation in coffee shops in San Juan (Puerto Rico), London, Paris, and Gainesville, Florida, counting the number of times that one person touched another at one table during a one-hour sitting. The 'scores' were, for San Juan, 180; for Paris, 110; for London, 0; and for Gainesville, 2"' (p.137, 1968 'Disclosing Man to Himself'.)

-Pulse Points: Places like the neck and wrists, where you can feel your pulse because your blood vessels run close to your skin. Wrap a damp bandana over the area, or ice cubes wrapped in a cloth, and you will cool off faster.


End file.
